


Road Rash

by Birdgirl90



Series: Selfcerts: For Her [4]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Female self insert - Freeform, Other, POV Second Person, Sex on a motorcycle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 14:10:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5747404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birdgirl90/pseuds/Birdgirl90
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which you scare John and end up flipped on his bike.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Road Rash

**Author's Note:**

> Hey lovelies!  
> Here we have a bit with Boss and his motorcycle.  
> Enjoy! :)
> 
> ~Birdie

It starts when the bike tips.

John’s always a great rider, always covered in that leather you love so well and cautious even when he seems to be so careless. But sometimes the bike beneath the both of you grumbles with a mind of its own, bucking and purring over oil spills and puddles without a second thought, the wheels barely touching the ground.  


He’d given in after ages of pleading to drive that purring machine, to rev the engine and feel the power beneath your touch. You shakily change gears around the vacant parking lot, the sky darkening and the crunching gravel beneath the wheels egging you on, the light from his glowing cigar illuminating a grin at your progress as the deep woodsy smell of his leather jacket around your shoulders makes you giddy.  


Until the bike decides you need a lesson.  


Thankfully, you weren’t really going that fast.  


John’s over you in a flash, pulling the bike off you as you shake yourself. You’re sore, but fine, the leather he insisted on you wearing keeping you from most of the scratches. He helps you up, checks you over. Fine except for the brief rattling that comes when something unexpected happens and the gravel in your palms from when you tried to break your fall. He holds your hands, pulls you close, and you can hear how fast his heart is thumping against his ribcage, against your ear.  


You scared him, the man who’s seen war and destruction, scared that you might be hurt.  


Once he’s assured you’re fine as he kisses your head, beard tickling against your hair, there’s a sigh nearly like a growl. His hands change, pull you back, and you see the fire burning in his blue eye, the white hot base of a candle at dawn. Your stomach begins to pitch, your own burning building, spreading from pelvis to finger tips to the bottom of your feet.  


Without warning, he lifts you over his shoulder as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, the possessiveness of it making you shiver with anticipation. He sets you down, leans you against the upright bike leaning on its kickstand, your ass to his growing arousal, his arms tightly around your waist as you lean over the leather seat, your breath coming in pants already, his hot lips and moans and that goddamn beard pressed against your neck, desperate and needy and relieved all at once.  


When strong steadfast fingers run over you, cup your curves, find their way to your pant buttons, you moan and sigh, let his lips continue their assault on your neck, turn your head so he can burn along your jaw, teeth nipping at your ears. Fingers slide under fabric, rub along your wet core, make you whimper as he moves away, the sound of a zipper behind you making you squirm, needy and ready as he rocks against you.  


 Hot shaking fingers pull the extra fabric down between you, leaving you dangerously exposed against him as he tips you further over the seat. It’s new and exciting and oh so public even with the cover of velvet night and empty roads surrounding you. It adds to your excitement as he takes you from behind as if a wild animal, desperate moans in your ear as he breathes into your neck, bittersweet smoke mingling with sweat and leather and your own breathless sighs.

He rocks against you, each thrust making you shudder, the bike beneath you rocking in time, his vibrations and the sensations of the cool night air making you gasp his name. He reaches up, tugs your hair, other arm tight around your waist as your legs are spread against his, feral growls mingling with your name as he nips along your neck again, that ever present beard sending you nearly over the edge, the sensation overwhelming among everything else.

He releases in you with a shudder and whimper, warm and sticky and oh so good, still panting as he stays inside, fingers finding their way somehow to you, to help you achieve your own climax, your body alight with the stars overhead as you cry out his name to the bike frame below you. He chuckles against you, a breathless sound, and you find yourself giggling, light headed and glowing, his hands leaving you to fix himself before flipping you around and placing a heady deep kiss to your lips.  


Maybe you should try to drive his bike more often.


End file.
